University of Virginia Library

Was it a dream? The taunting demons fled;
Through the dim cell a wondrous glory spread;
And all the air was filled with rare perfumes
Wafted from censers rich with heavenly blooms.
Transfigured stood the Christ before his eyes,
Clothed in white samite, woven in Paradise,
And from the empty cross upon the wall
Streamed a wide splendor that encompassed all!
Was it a dream? Anselmo's sight grew dim;
The cloistered chamber seemed to reel and swim;
Yet well his spirit knew the glorious guest,
And all his manhood rose to meet the test.
“What wilt Thou have me, Lord, to do?” he cried
With pallid lips, and kissed the sacred feet.
And then in accents strangely calm, yet sweet,
These words he heard from Christ, the crucified,
The pitying Christ his inmost soul who read,
With all its wild unrest, its doubt and dread:
“Make thou a copy of My Holy Word!”
Then mystic presences about him stirred;
The vision faded. At the dawn of day
Prostrate and pallid in the dusk he lay.
Was it a dream? God knows! The narrow cell
Wore the old aspect he had learned so well,
And from the crucifix upon the wall
No glory streamed illuminating all!
Yet still a subtile fragrance filled the room;
And looking round him in the soft, gray gloom,
Anselmo saw upon the fretted floor
An eagle's quill that this grave legend bore:
“He works most nobly for his fellow-men
Who gives My word to them, by tongue or pen!”